The Placebo Effect
by binx-349
Summary: Sometimes a whole lot of nothing can be more powerful than you could imagine. [GS]


The Placebo Effect – 

Pairing: Gil/Sara

Rating: PG

A/N: Another little one-shot, my muse seems to have gone on hiatus and I think it is probably best for all if it stays there for a while. No beta, all mistakes are mine and mine only.

Life is full of experiments, some turn out as we expect; some don't. All have an outcome if you're willing to take the chance. They aren't always predictable, but to prove a theory you have to be willing to risk the possibility of being wrong, of things not working out as you had hoped. The risk is normally minimal. I don't mind being proved wrong in the name of science. I never have. It's part of life, part of work, normal. I want normal, or as normal as I could expect with the path I've chosen.

I watch the hands of the clock on my wall march on, unending, never missing even a single beat. I start to believe that sometimes these things are doomed to failure. I see my life ticking away and wish I had done so many things, followed through on so many actions. It prompts the realisation of the waste I've made of the last few years. I start to think like this more and more as the days pass, the months, the years. I watch us all move apart, see myself as if from a distance. I know I've been pushing the all away, pushing her away.

The events of the past few weeks have got us all. We try to put it behind us, and that never works as well as it is supposed to. I should have learnt this by now. It's the same old game, except that we have so much more behind us that things will never be exactly the same. It makes me realise everything I stand to lose. Nothing is as stable and predictable as we think.

I don't know how things became this complicated. She tells me it's her fault. I know that's not true but can't bring myself to put her at ease. She's not the only one pretending.

A whole lot of nothing can be very powerful, in its own way. The placebo effect, it has always fascinated me. We've had five years working together day after day; or night after night to be exact. Five years to stew, to do something, not once has that happened, not once. She still manages to be the only person to be able to hurt me, despite our five years of so much avoided contact.

I've had a theory about 'us' since day one. It was strongly fuelled by my pessimistic side thinking that my luck would never run far enough. That it would last me half way and die on me, like mayflies on the eve of their first day of life. I would see what it was like on the other side for the briefest of moments, fall short of the end-point and never be able to get back my naivety. That I would be dependent on her to keep me going, she would leave, and I would be left helpless and alone once more.

I still think of her, and things that could be, that should be. I work them over picking through the outcomes, and eventually I come to the realisation I started with, that it could never last, that it would never be enough, for her, for me even. Some days I even contemplate the start of the experiment, the possibilities and the trials that would hit us before we even got off the ground.

As I slam the door behind me I realise I don't really know where I'm going, nor do I really care. Space to think, all I want, and all I need. Just to allow me to consider where things have gone wrong, and how to get back to how we were.

I must have been sat there, unmoving for at least an hour before my vast empty sanctuary was invaded; the deep hush broken only by the scuff of feet and an unspeaking presence.

"Never would have imagined seeing you out here".

My heart contracts repetitively at a speed approaching that of the clock still echoing in my ears. A reminder of all the things I should say, should do, and never have.

I don't even have to turn around.

As if I wouldn't know, couldn't sense the presence in the back of my mind before a word was uttered. I should have known that I wouldn't be the only one to come back here, to see the scene once more. The idea of a friend in pain draws us back, again and again.

"I like the quiet sometimes" I'm sure she hears my quiet response, although I don't imagine she will follow my line of thought, it skips around like a leaf in the breeze, never settling while she's this close. If she had wanted to ask something she evidently suppressed the urge. I lock my hands, my elbows on my knees, still watching the distance. "-time to think is a commodity I don't come across too often".

She stands in front of me for a quiet moment before taking a seat beside me, tightening her hands on her knees in what I assume is an indication of discomfort, perhaps I'm wrong and she simply does that anyway, what do I know about it after all. I try to psychoanalyse and fail miserably, it just isn't me. Some people can look at others and know them – know what they're thinking, some can't. I am one of the latter, and I strongly doubt that any kind of training is going to help me in that matter.

"What are you thinking?" I'm not sure if she really expects an answer or not, I feel like I should give her something.

I say nothing and after several moments of quiet I can mentally feel her slipping away, retreating in the hope that I will forget, or at the very least pretend it didn't happen. If she could take back the question I think she would. She shifts brushing against my arm and moving to leave.

"About what it is I want" I glance up to her for a split second before looking back down. Her eyes ask a question, a simple question with an answer so deeply unfathomable I would never be able to articulate it as clearly as I would like. The silence is louder than anything I know, I can't bring myself to meet her eyes again, if she could see what I want to say, what I never could. "-and about why it is I walk away from it every single day". I close my eyes, letting out a breath and pressing my lips together to stop myself revealing any more. That was more than enough sharing for one day, more than enough.

I feel her stiffen. She's not going to leave now. I know her, and know exactly what to do to keep her around. She is already wound so tight and ready to snap. I always have. It used to be unconscious, now it becomes purposeful. She simply watched me, saying nothing, just waiting for me to continue. I wonder about how much she knows sometimes. I shake my head, not daring to look anywhere other than at her hands. I think about what went on here not too long ago and know that she should not be the thing on my mind, yet she is. She distracts me, taking me from one source of pain to another.

"Then don't," her breathy whisper echoes in my ears. The truth of it is all I want is to give in to her. I want to drown myself in every part of her, lose all sense of the reality, of what stops me from following on my thoughts; everything that keeps me static.

"I can't Sara," It comes out far harsher than I ever intended it to. That seems to happen a lot with me. She closes her eyes, as if anticipating something that never comes. It's a momentary flinch that speaks volumes; of her insecurities, her past. The pieces that have fallen into place, even over the last few seconds give me insight I never had before. She nods wearily. In those few words I watch her world continue to collapse in on itself in her eyes, crumbing into dust. The defeat in her posture when she stands makes my chest ache, it tightens around my ribs and with a certainty that I have never felt before I know that I can't keep this up. I can't do this anymore.

I've been leading myself on for years, believing that it could never be real. That all the little things that have gone between the two of us couldn't ever lead to that. It has always been my protection, keeping a distance keeping her out of my heart, away from my centre of gravity just in case she touches me, knocks me off course.

I watch her walk away from me, my confusion is amplified every time I think about it again. I can't bring myself to think about it, every time I do I over analyse and miss the point of the thought. To act without thinking, without knowing the outcome scares me.

I don't know what possesses me sometimes, I really don't. It's like it isn't me. I forget what other people will think, what might happen after. I can count the number of times I have made a rash decision on one hand – with fingers to spare. I pick myself up to follow her, hoping she hasn't gone too far.

It doesn't take me long. I see her huddled form almost as soon as I scan the area. She is shaking silently. Her vulnerability scares me. Her façade of strength is so effortlessly worn it is difficult for me to imagine anything else. I have seen her cry only twice and it always unnerves me. It makes me sure I was not supposed to see this. She never expected me to follow her.

I pull her into me, as close as she can be. It's what I should have done so many before. Other times when something happens to provoke this I see this same scene, and do nothing. I want to change, it's important enough to me now.

Her hands tangle in my shirt front, grasping on to it as if it were her lifeline in a storm. I feel the damp of her tears on my chest, their wet warmth seeping into the fabric. I barely did anything and yet it helped her more than I ever could have imagined. Sometimes human contact is all you need, the salve to all injuries.

I drop a kiss to her forehead, it is such an instinctive gesture that I don't even think about it. Her head jerks up at the unexpected contact, eyes boring into me, trying to comprehend where my motivation is coming from. Why I would do that. It goes against everything she knows about me, everything I've ever said. I told her not five minutes I ago that I couldn't do it. I can see the flare of hope in her eyes as clearly as the sun in the Nevadan sky. She has given up hiding it now.

I open my mouth considering an explanation. Nothing is forthcoming, so I close it again. I immediately see her face drop once more, she knows this scenario. I know I've done something similar before, and managed to just walk away. It took all the will power I possessed. Letting that happen again, isn't an option.

"Sara-"

I rub a thumb across her cheekbone, swiping away the tear-tracks in a couple of motions. I swallow, hard. I know what I'm risking, and that this should probably stay unsaid. I almost wish I still had the restraint I used to.

"I'm not walking away this time". It sounds rough, even to my own ears, defensive. I've been so near to losing people before, her I want close. Dropping my hands to her shoulders I skim over the skin of her neck.

As we stand there I start to feel the deep sense of relief that I never knew was missing. I see her shiver, and realise just how cold it has become now the sun has set. I pull back and start to guide her back towards her car, more determined now than ever not to let this be what I always feared. I want to make something of it, to make it work. Letting her go is not an option.


End file.
